Last Christmas
by kandisi
Summary: Slash. It’s December 22nd, and Peter, at the local mall, just wants to buy his Christmas presents and some freaking shoes. But will Sylar let him, or will he drag Peter to the spa and to the pet store to look at kittens? Rated M for sex and language.


**Title: **Last Christmas  
**Author: **sapphire17  
**Pairings: **Peter/Sylar, Matt/Mohinder (Well, in Peter's mind, at least)  
**Characters: **Peter Petrelli, Sylar/Gabriel Gray, (OMG, Mohinder _finally_ doesn't make an appearance in my Pylar/Petlar fics, though he IS mentioned several times. Figures!)  
**Rating: **Totally **adult**, peeps. I warned you! Don't say I didn't! :0  
**Summary: **It's December 22nd, and Peter just wants to by his Christmas presents and some freaking shoes. Will Sylar let him?  
**Warnings: **Sexin' at the end like woah, bad language, the fact that almost every other word of Peter's is 'fuck' (_especially_ once he runs into Sylar), violence, the fact that Sylar gets 'nailed', a-gain, the fact that Peter gets 'nailed', at first, Peter's desperate search of some shoesies, Sylar's pervertedness, the fact that Peter is insatiably horny, what Peter says to all of the register peeps in the beginning...  
**Spoilers:** Up to the 4x13 promo, 'Upon this Rock'.  
**A/N: **Urm, I dunno... Guess you can blame the movie "Mall Cop" for this... I watched it and got to thinking "Wonder what would happen if Peter ran into Sy at a mall before he got locked inside like mall cop? Oh snap, you know I'm totally gonna write that now...", and, yeah, I kinda... did... Sorry for the crappy title, comes from the song Peter and Sylar are hearing in the mall while... doing 'stuff'... Totally heard it on the radio while driving my mom to work. This fic is totally, utterly, and completely _stooped_. Again, sorry for that...

Sadly, I don't like this fic too much... Hopefully some of you guys will, so that's why I decided to go on ahead and post it. Would have posted it yesterday on the 22nd, since the fic takes place on that very day, but, I didn't have time to beta yesterday... Was too tired. :P

AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PETER!f

Well, read on, if you must! LOL.

**Last Christmas**

Well here he went, a-gain.

Decemeber 22nd.

One day before his birthday, three days before Christmas.

Peter Petrelli could only sigh.

He used to love this time of year, but now, he fucking _hated_ it.

For the first time.

There would be no present under the decorated evergreen this year for Nathan Petrelli, and no present under the tree from him.

The other day, Nathan's proper funeral had finally been held. Large, American flag draping over his coffin, Peter in his black suit, mourning his beloved brother's death but not shedding a single lonely tear. No, he had already shed all the tears he was going to shed up on the roof with 'Nathan'. Then, afterwards, later that night, he and Claire had gone back to that very roof. Had a long talk together.

And in Peter's apartment, an extra Christmas present had magically appeared under his tree, wrapped in black wrapping paper with a red bow. The tag had said "Merry Christmas and a happy birthday, Peter Petrelli. Thought you might need this for next time..."

And, it had been nail gun.

A.. fucking.. _nail_.. gun..

Yeah, three guesses as to whom THAT had been from...

Goddamnit, _Sylar_ had been fucking around in Peter's apartment...!

Peter was gonna _get_ Sylar... make him _pay_ for Nathan, if it _killed_ Peter, he was going to make Sylar _pay_.

Peter exhaled another sigh, continuing to walk his way through the very, _very_ crowded mall of Manhattan 33rd Street.

He had to buy presents.

And, fuck, he was _so_ NOT in the mood...

What would his friends want, anyway?

Well, he'd just have to guess...

What Peter Petrelli _really_ needed were some fucking _shoes_.

For work.

The shoes he was currently wearing were so outdated, worn, and literally _falling apart._

His old Reeboks were dead, or so it seemed.

He had _especially_ destroyed them back when he had still bore Mohinder Suresh's superstrength right after Sylar's 'death', and then, _seriously_ fucked them up when he had bore Edgar's superspeed.

Yeah...

Peter needed some shoes.

Bad.

In Manhattan Mall, Peter eyed a cooking store. MCK plus B's. Yeah, what the fuck ever.

Peter entered, feeling _highly_ gay as he began to look around.

He saw an instant waffle maker.

Hiro Nakamura would like that.

Peter picked up the box, and walked up to the register, once again feeling _highly_ gay, and, fuck, Peter _wasn't_ gay, but he was in this gay cooking store nevertheless.

"That'll be twenty-one sixty-five," an elderly woman behind the cash register stated.

Peter got out his wallet, and drained it of some more cash.

Gay.

_So_ gay.

"This a present for your sweetheart girl?" the old woman asked with a smile.

Peter smiled back, feeling like a fucking bastard today.

"Yeah, HIS name is Hiro, and, I'm hoping that by buying him this waffle maker, that he'll let me fuck him, hard. He loves waffles, but not as much as he loves my dick."

Woah...

Where in the FUCK had that come from...?

This _wasn't_ Peter... not sweet, idealistic, naïve little Peter... With his big, beautiful brown eyes and his long, dark brown bangs draping in his face.

It was someone else.

Well, ever since 'Nathan', if that's even what you could call who that man—those men—had been, Peter had changed.

Forever.

The caring 'empath' was dead.

The old woman frowned. "I... see... I'll just wrap this up for you, sir..."

And Peter could only smirk.

Bitch.

Now, it was time for Ando's present.

Well, what the fuck would _he_ want...?

...Probably the most recent copy of 'Busty Asian Beauties', 'Backdoor Sluts IX', or a subscription to some online lesbian porn site, but, yeah... Peter kinda figured he already had all those.

So instead, Peter entered Hot Topic.

And oh, God, he felt _so_ fucking GAY.

Peter eyed the various people there, with their black and red and purple and blue and green hair, their various ear and facial piercings (and, God help him, but Peter was wondering what ELSE they had pierced...), their long trenchcoants, which Peter knew he was to where in the future. The future where he had that new, diagonal scar ripping his pretty little face in two.

Peter walked to the back of the store, and looked at some of the jackets.

Ando would like a leather jacket.

And so, Peter got one, a medium, black leather jacket for Ando to wear when he rode that gay-ass 'Ando-cycle' of his Hiro had told him all about, and went to the register.

A young teenage boy, with his nose, lip, ears, tongue, and eyebrow pierced smiled at Peter.

"This for you? Or are you doing some last minute shopping?"

Peter decided it was time for the 'shock-factor' a-gain.

_He's gone... He-He's gone...!_

_Nathan was dead_, so, fuck, who gave a motherfucking goddamn...?

Nathan wouldn't—couldn't—so neither did Peter.

"It's for my guy lover, one of them, God, I have so fucking many. I'm fucking this Asian guy, right? But that Asian guy is also fucking this other Asian guy, but I'm secretly fucking them both, and neither one of them KNOWS it. So, yeah, just hoping that by getting one of those Asian guys this fucking gay jacket, that I'll be able to land a quick fuck with Asian guy number two before Asian guy number one catches wind of our fucking, you know...?"

The teenager blinked.

"Um, yeah... right, dude... Hope that—Hope that works out for ya..."

"I'm hard," Peter said.

Oh, fuck, he needed _help_.

Nathan's death had really, _really_ messed him up.

"Look, dude, just _pay_ me the money and get out of my store," the teenage boy barked, "We get enough perverts in here. Punks, goths, vamps, but you, my friend, are in need of some _serious_ h-e-l-p."

"Fuck you," Peter smirked.

Yeah, that had felt good.

"Here's your change, and have a merry Christmas," the boy frowned.

"And a happy fucking birthday," Peter responded, before he took the black, leather jacket and left.

God, that had been _so_ gay.

For Peter to be in 'Hot Topic' of all places, at least.

...Like he was gonna tell Ando that he had bought his fucking present from Hot Topic, but, Ando wouldn't care.

He wouldn't KNOW.

But, Peter would probably tell him anyways... just for kicks.

Yeah.

Now for Mohinder Suresh's present.

Fuck, what would _Mohinder_ want...?

Probably... probably something all 'Indian' but not overtly 'spirtual', linked to his fucking 'culture' and all that stupid shit.

Peter hence took the escalator up to the second floor of the Manhattan mall, while a set of little boys hugged their mother and eyed Peter with fear.

Yeah, that was right, BE afraid...

Peter was once again dressed all in black, though, he was lacking the trench. Instead, he had on black jeans, a long sleeved, black shirt, and a cotton black coat zipped halfway up over that shirt.

"Merry Christmas, guys," Peter said sweetly, with adoration and heavy snark.

Yeah... the kids and the mother got out of there pretty fucking quickly when the escalator came upon the second floor.

Peter groaned to himself, stepping up before the escalator could stop as he turned, and consequently continued his journey through the Manhattan Mall.

Peter came upon Wright's Rock Shop, and, yeah, figured Mohinder would totally be all over that gay stuff. From the way Mohinder had been eyeing Matt Parkman last time Peter had seen him, yeah, _totally_ all **over** that gay stuff.

Peter entered the store.

And, God, this was gay. Even gayer than Hot Topic had been.

Peter went into the back of the store, where he took into glance the view of the many crystallized quartzes.

Yeah, Mohinder would be all over that.

Peter settled on a large crystallized rose quartz, which was a bookcase at the same time. A rose quartz split in two, to hold your books together—one on each side.

And, yeah, Mohinder had a LOT of fucking books.

Peter grabbed the quartzes, as the books they had been holding together toppled over to the side, like dominos falling down, one by one.

He once again went to a register.

Uh oh.

"Merry Christmas!" a young woman said, "These for a friend?"

"Yeah, a very _special_ friend, this hot Indian guy, one I'd like to 'nail' like the guy I totally 'nailed' to the floor last month as I tortured him. Fuck, he screamed _so_ loud when I 'nailed' him. Totally wanted me, could see it in his dark, brown eyes."

"Um, yeah..." the girl responded, "So would you like to get your ear pierced today?"

Peter frowned.

He fucking frowned.

"...Do I look like a _fag_ to you? God, guess I do. Need to fucking cut my hair again so I won't look like a fag anymore. Just wrap the shit up. Here's your money."

The girl was, yeah...

"Erm, okay, sir... anything you say..."

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

Peter wanted OUT of this mall.

Now.

After the girl had handed him the wrapped quartzes, Peter exited the gay store.

Time to buy Matt Parkman a present.

And, Peter had _no fucking clue_ as to what he would want.

Probably something highly gay.

Mohinder, more than likely, but, Peter unfortunately couldn't give Matt that...

Peter figured he would want one of those vibrating massagers or something.

Yeah, Peter would get one of those, for sure.

Peter walked down the crowded path, into another store, where he was sure they had one.

'Bed, Bath, and Beyond'.

And, yeah, they did.

God, Peter felt _so __**gay**_.

Peter picked up the massager, and went to check-out counter.

"Merry Christmas and a happy New Year!" the middle-aged woman greeted, "Doing a little late Christmas shopping, I see?"

"Yeah, it's for a friend, so he can vibrate his groan while I watch."

Okay...

Peter was _definitely_ in need of some _help_...

"Um, okay..." the woman hesitantly responded, "Do you want this wrapped?"

"No, my you-know-what will take care of that."

And, oh God, Peter really, _really_ needed some help.

Nathan's death had fucked him up, _big-time_.

Now, Peter was snarking at anyone and any person who dared speak to him, just praying, _hoping_ that he might take even a _little_ of the pain he felt away.

And with every person Peter snarked, a _little_ of that pain _went_ away.

For a second, at least.

"I... see, well, here you go, sir..." the young woman remarked in a hushed voice, acting afraid. Afraid of Peter. Afraid of dark!Peter in his all black.

Peter continued through 'Bed, Bath, and Beyond'.

And, fuck, he bought some eyeliner.

Yeah...

He was totally going to Hell.

Gay.

But Nathan had always told him he looked good in eyeliner.

Peter didn't know if he'd actually wear it or not... Probably not. He had just bought it for old time's sake. He just remembered that Halloween, when he had been thirteen, and Nathan had put some black eyeliner on him. Had told him he looked hot in it.

Now, time for his mother's present.

Peter figured his mother Angela Petrelli would want some overly-expensive jewelry piece, so, he set of to 'Zale's'. Fuck, he was going to spend his _entire fucking paycheck_ on his mom. Three paychecks, actually. Peter knew he could have just gone with something of lesser value, like a slightly expensive bottle of 1972 Azalea Springs, like that guy Freck had drunk in 'A Scanner Darkly' before he had tried to off himself, but then he'd feel guilty later after Angela had gotten intoxicated, a-gain. Ever since Nathan, she had been knocking back glass after glass of wine.

So, with that in mind, Peter walked down the second story path, into 'Zale's'. He eyed the diamonds, the rubies, the sapphires.

"Hello, sir, something we can help you with?" some old bastard asked.

"I'd like these earrings," Peter remarked, pointing through the enclosed, glass case.

"How sweet," the man chuckled, getting out the two-carat diamond earrings. "For you girl?"

"No," Peter said, shaking his head, "For my mom. And, you know, I always thought she had something for me. Incest is so common in my family, and NOT just because we're Italian."

Yeah...

The man blinked.

"I... see..."

"Yeah..." Peter responded, "So wrap the bitches up so I can go home and have 'fun' with my mom. This is just what she wants. But, yeah, not more so than me."

Oh, God.

Peter was fucking losing it!

Hell, he HAD lost it.

"Right..." the man behind the glass counter responded, wrapping up the earrings. "Anything you say. Well, that'll be three-hundred ninety-eight."

Peter smirked, paying the man in cash.

"Here you go."

"Thanks," Peter remarked, "Be sure to tell my mom how much you wanna do her."

Oh, fuck, Peter needed H-E-L-P.

"Right..." the man muttered, before he said, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, and happy b-day to me," Peter responded, turning before he waltzed out of the jewelry store.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

**Fuck**.

Peter wanted to go _home_.

But he still had Emma and Hesam's presents to worry about.

Again, fuck.

Just... fuck...

Yeah...

Peter then headed to the very end of the mall, right outside Dillard's, where Sunrise Records was located.

What Peter was going to buy wasn't going to be for Emma or Hesam, but, yes, Peter deserved a few luxuries after the Hell he had been through in the past two months.

Peter entered the store, instantly making his way to the television dvds.

Peter wanted a blu-ray player, badly, but, yeah... couldn't afford it.

Peter scanned the large quantity of dvds with his brown eyes, until he found what he was looking for.

Season eight of 'Smallville', and season four of 'Supernatural'.

Gay.

So very gay.

But, what could Peter say? He had a kink for shows about superpowers...

...Along with brothers who might as well be gay together.

So.. fucking.. gay.

Peter went to the check-out register, and got in line.

Finally, it was his turn...

Oh no... Here he went a-_gain_.

"These presents?" a young man asked.

Peter shook his head. "Nah, they're for me."

"Good choices, dude. I love 'Supernatural'. And, would you be interested in the new Mortal Kombat game? It kicks ass."

Peter laughed out loud. "Nah, don't have a PS3 or an X-box yet. But, yeah, me too, regarding 'Supernatural'. Haven't seen the finale where I know Sam releases Lucifer from Hell, can only hope that Sam and Dean get it on this time around. Hey, who do think totes tops? Sam, or Dean? I kinda think Sam, and don't even get me started about subby lil' Castiel..."

"...Um, kay... And I'm... really not sure about that question you asked me..."

Peter grinned.

The guy behind the counter said nothing more to Peter, not even bothering to say 'Merry Christmas' to him. Obviously, the guy wanted as little to do with Peter as possible now...

Peter took his dvds, turned, and left.

He walked back through the mall, pondering what he could _possibly_ get Emma and Hesam, when he had almost reached the food court. He listened to the music they were playing all throughout the mall, that originated from the food court. It was 'O' Holy Night' by Celine Dion. Peter groaned again. Totally didn't wanna hear this. _Just_ wanted to go _home_.

That was when...

Peter looked down the collected crowd of people, and saw...

...Sylar.

Standing still, staring back at Peter like he had always known he was there, with that _stupid_ grin plastered upon his face that Peter hated more than _life itself._

"Oh my fucking _God_..." Peter murmured to himself.

Sylar, dressed in black pants and a ridiculously _gay_ plaid, purple shirt like he had worn at the Sullivan Bros. Carnival complete with a black overshirt turned, heading for the food court.

And Peter ran after him.

Hell, Peter chased Sylar all the way down _into_ the food court, until Peter found Sylar, in line at McDonalds.

"_**Sylar**_..." Peter hissed, making sure he got the older man's attention, "What in the FUCK are you doing here?"

"I'm grabbing a bite to eat, what's it look like, Peter?"

Peter smirked. "You _followed_ me here, didn't you?"

Sylar shook his head. "No. Just wanted an angus. These new mushroom and swiss burgers are to die for. Kinda expensive, though."

"You _fucking son of a __**bitch**_," Peter hissed still more, "Give me _**Nathan**_ back! I want Nathan, NOW!"

"No," Sylar remarked, coolly enough, "Nathan's _gone_. He's dead. He's not in me anymore. And, yeah, he never ate, so I'm fucking hungry. Don't wanna end up as skinny as you, Peter."

"FUCK YOU!" Peter shouted, "I'm gonna KILL you! And I KNOW you followed me here, Sylar."

"Yeah, whatever, just wait until I get my angus."

Peter frowned, holding numerous sacks in his hands.

"I AM gonna kill you, Sylar."

"Fuck you, Peter. Fuck you. No pretty little nail guns for pretty little Peter Petrelli _this_ time around. Should have brought the one I gave you for your thirtieth birthday to the mall with you. Should have known we would run into each other sooner or later... Inevitable as it is, was."

Sylar stepped up to the counter, made his order, and paid, with a credit card—probably the credit card of some guy he had killed to get.

Yeah, Peter totally knew that.

Fuck.

Sylar got his food, and then, with a red tray, walked over to one of the small, circular food tables within the food court and sat down in metal chair with a plastic seat.

Peter frowned still more, walking over to Sylar and sitting down across from him.

"You _did_ follow me here, didn't you? You sick fuck."

Sylar nodded. "Yes, I did. I am going to kill you, Peter Petrelli..."

Peter frowned still more. "_Not_ if I kill you first. Sylar, You seem to forget, I am _always_ the one beating _your_ ass, nailing _your_ ass into the floor.

Sylar swallowed a bit of his angus, and then said, "Why Peter, you wanna 'beat' and 'nail' me that badly?"

And, yeah, Peter could only STILL frown.

"Fuck you, you fucking _perv_. You _know_ what I meant. I am gonna _fuck you up_ in more ways than _one_. Decapitate you with a hack saw, or, with your own telekinesis, so you'll fucking _die_, _never_ being able to hurt another living soul for the _rest_ of your _pathetic_, **miserable** life."

"Uh-huh," Sylar said in a casual voice, taking another bite of his angus. Peter's threats obviously were racking his nerves in any way. "Yeah, Peter, you do that. Just make sure you finish your Christmastime shopping, first. Saw those shiny diamond earrings you got your—our—beloved Angela. She'll love them, Peter. They're almost, almost as good as the thousand dollar necklace I got Angela for Christmas... Left it for her under the tree, in Nathan's name. It was the least I could do for my love. Probably thought you put it there, Peter..."

And, yes, Peter frowned some more.

"You leave my fucking mother aLONE."

Sylar shrugged, taking another bite out of his mushroom and swiss.

"She's hot, Peter. She's given me something to strive for in this Hellish world, just like I said, when I captured her sweet lips with mine on Thanksgiving. Would have slipped her the tongue, but, not in front of you, Peter."

"FUCK YOU!" Peter shouted, collecting the attention of, well, everyone... "You stay AWAY from my mother, from me, or I'm gonna KILL you. I WILL kill you, TONIGHT, you fucking BITCH."

Sylar merely shrugged again, until the last bite of his angus was gone. Then, Sylar began picking at the leftover mushrooms, and, fuck, Peter thought that was kinda cute...

"You _need_ to _eat_, Peter. I've been watching you ever since Nathan's funeral... You haven't eaten a thing. Can't live on coffee and caffeine pills alone. Again, you need to eat."

Peter blinked.

Yeah...

Sylar was kinda right.

But...

"Fuck you, Sylar," Peter repeated, "Fuck you. I'll 'eat' when I damned well please."

And, God, Peter WAS hungry, too.

Thanks to Sylar.

Sylar had reminded him.

God, Peter wanted to just grab Sylar, and start beating the crap out of him there and then, but he couldn't... Not in front of all of these innocents. Knowing Sylar, he'd use them against Peter. Hurt someone in Peter's name. Expose himself in front of everyone.

And, hell, that had NOT sounded right...

Once again, Peter needed some _serious_ **help**.

"Fuck you, I'm leaving," Peter griped, picking up his Christmas shopping sacks as he stood, before he turned. "Don't think this changes anything between us. I'm still gonna fucking kill you, Sylar."

But, as Peter walked out of the food court, Sylar only followed him...

Step by step, amble by amble, pace by pace...

Hell...?

Peter, without noticing Sylar, finally made his way into 'Which Which', and headed over to the sandwich sack dispensary to mark what he wanted on his sub with a black marker. Peter grunted to himself, wondering where exactly those markers had been.

Once a nurse, always a nurse.

"Knew you'd like 'Which Which', Peter."

Peter turned around, and frowned, a-gain. "You following me again, you sick fuck?"

Sylar nodded. "Yeah, I am. Don't even _think_ about starting some shit with me, Peter. With your current ability, I may not be able to electrocute you or telekinetically fling you into a wall and cut your head open, but I have a knife, and I _will_ put it to someone's throat if you start shit with me. Or to your head. Your current ability is so delicious that my mouth is salivating just _looking_ at you, Peter Petrelli. Brian Davis and poor little 'Michelle' or 'Candice' or whatever the hell she wanted to call herself had to find-out what it was like when I take the top of their heads off the old-fashioned way..."

"Bastard," Peter griped, after having finished marking his sandwich slip. He went over to counter, and handed it to the people behind it. "I'm gonna fucking murder you."

"You say 'fuck' too much, Peter."

"...Yeah, well, I say 'fuck' when I'm really _angry_, and I'm _angry_, and I am _always_ angry around you," Peter grumbled, as the boy behind the counter handed Peter his sandwich before Peter paid for it, and the coca-cola.

Peter walked over to a small booth, and sat down, before Sylar casually took a seat across from him.

"Not even some sour cream & onion Baked Lays to go with your s-which, Peter? And, Swiss, pickles, black olives, extra mayo, and honey mustard alone on it," Sylar began, eyeing Peter's small sub, "No meat. You a vegetarian, Peter?"

Peter shook his head. "No, watching you eat that disgusting 'angus' nearly took my appetite away. You eat like you're starving."

"I was starving. Like I said before, 'Nathan' never ate. He only drank, and, yeah, didn't work out so well for him. I can't get drunk, remember?"

Peter took a bite of his sandwich, swallowing before he said, "You even _sorry_ you killed Nathan?"

"Not at all. He had it coming. He was a _dick_. Consider it payback for what he put me through with Danko. He put you through hell too, Peter. Shouldn't be angry. Should be happy."

"Bastard," Peter repeated, taking another bite, "Why don't you just fuck right on off and leave me the hell alone?"

"There's the 'f' word again, Peter. Tsk, tsk, you have a dirty mouth. With the kind of things that come out of it, I can only imagine the kind of things that have been in it..."

Peter blinked, nearly dropping his sub.

Yeah... he... sorta 'got' that...

"You sick fu—..." Peter stopped, realizing he was about to cuss again, "I mean, you're just _sick_, Sylar. Very, very _sick_."

"You should've seen Nathan's face when I killed him," Sylar cruelly began as he watched Peter struggle to eat, "After you and he attacked me, and after you grabbed me and took my shapeshifting ability, Nathan and I flew together, as I flew for the first time, getting a better grasp on my empathy with your brother than I'd _ever_ had with Elle Bishop, with James Martin. We must have had very _good_ chemistry, Nathan and I, since I was able to empathetically mimic his self-propelled flight so _quickly_," Sylar pointed-out, making Peter all the more uncomfortable. Peter obviously hadn't thought of that before. "And so we flew, together, outside of the hotel. Nathan grabbed onto me, as we spun around in the sky. Finally, I launched him through a window with telekinesis, back into a hotel room. I came to a landing on the balcony. Nathan looked at me, and before he could act, before he could speak, before he could so much as _think_, I waved my hand, and just like that, slashed his pretty little throat. He stumbled backwards, fell into a chair. I watched, watched as the blood poured from his neck. Nathan looked so, so pretty. Not as pretty as you, Peter, but pretty nonetheless. So pretty with blood pouring from his neck. I just wanted to walk right up, and lick it off of him."

Peter set down his sandwich, leaned over the table, and grasped Sylar by the lapels, jerking him forwards, until their faces were less than an inch apart.

"You.. fucking.. _bitch_.." Peter growled.

"There's that word again."

"_Fuck_ you, Sylar, _fuck_ you," Peter growled still more, making _sure_ he said 'fuck' this time around, "You will _pay_ for my brother's death, Sylar, I'll see to it. Maybe not this night, maybe not this week, maybe not this _year_, but you _will_ pay. I don't _care_ if I have to chase you all over the _world_, to Pluto, to Hell and back, you _can't_ escape me, you'll _never_ escape me. I **will**.. _find_ _you_.. wherever, even _whenever_, you go."

"_Whenever_, Peter?" Sylar whispered, his lips briefly brushing against Peter's, "I'm not a time-traveler. I still have to kill our good friend Hiro, first, which I will, after the crap he put me through in the past when I was in Odessa. I saved his beautiful little Charlie for him and he couldn't even give me all the details. Was totally wrong about my death, though. Was the waffle maker for him, Peter? It was, wasn't it?" Sylar said against Peter's mouth.

Quickly becoming disgusted with their intimacy, Peter spit in Sylar's face, before he pulled back, and continued right along eating.

Sylar grinned, licking Peter's saliva from his lips, making Peter sick.

"You want to spit in my mouth and make me swallow, Peter?"

"That's _filthy_," Peter spat, taking another bite of his sub, "_You're_ filthy. You're perverted, sick, _disgusting_."

"_You're_ the perverted, **sick**, and _disgusting_ one, Peter Petrelli," Sylar smirked, a knowing expression his face, "I still have all of _Nathan's_ memories, don't forget. Remember that time when you turned eighteen, Peter? Exactly twelve years ago..."

"Stop it."

"And after your party, when Nathan was drunk out of his mind, you told Nathan it was _finally_ okay, that it wasn't _wrong_ anymore."

"_Stop_ it!"

"That he could finally have you _without_ it being wrong, _without_ it being immoral. Hell, you were 'all grown up', now. He pushed you down to your bed, took off his and your clothes, and took you Peter. He fucking _took_ you, and you _let_ him, and from what he—_I_—can remember, you fucking _loved_ it, loved it as he took your 'second' virginity."

"STOP IT!"

Sylar went silent, his grin gone.

Sylar was appropriately disgusted with Nathan, and especially Peter.

Sure, Sylar's virtues and morality were pretty screwed-up, but not even _Sylar_ would sink so low as to open his legs for his own brother, if he'd had one. Sylar had been sickened with himself back when Angela had told him he and Peter were brothers, what with the kind of thoughts about Peter Petrelli that had been flying around in Sylar's unholy mind. Fuck, Kirby Plaza, Level 5, the Company hallway, the hospital, Sylar had wanted nothing more than for Peter to slam him to the floor and take him every single time. Or the other way around. Sylar really didn't care, and, one normally wouldn't expect that of him.

Not like he was gonna let Peter know.

Wanted him, but still wanted to kill him.

"What?" Sylar finally spoke, breaking the rather uncomfortable silence, well, it was disquieting for Peter, at least. "You upset 'Nathan' didn't give you a goodbye kiss on the roof before he took the jump?"

"Go to hell," Peter said, "Now that Nathan's gone, you have no fucking _right_ digging around in his memories. I think I'll take them away from you."

"No you won't. They're _my_ memories now, Peter, and I know everything about you now. Everything. Everything he knew, and I'm not willing to let that everything go," Sylar calmly began, "I know everything. Who you took to prom. Your first kiss. Your first break-up. Your favourite breakfast. Your eighth birthday. How much you and Nathan loved to skinny dip in the pool when Angela and Arthur were out wining and dining. Those cute, little blue briefs you were wearing the first time you and Nathan had sex. The sexy black ones Nathan was wearing the last time you and Nathan had sex. The way you begged 'Nathan' to take you for one, last time after he found out he was me, but alas, much your disappointment, he said no. Said he didn't won't to give away what you two had shared over to me. I feel closer to you than ever, Peter Petrelli. Gotta say... Nathan's soul severing from mine left a rather... unpleasant taste in my mouth..."

"You _have_ a soul?" Peter questioned once again.

"Why Peter, we _already_ went over that on Thanksgiving. Of course I have a soul, tainted as it may be. What, you think you can save my soul from certain damnation, Peter?"

"Shut-_up_," Peter muttered, not wanting to get into another conversation with the killer, "You had a soul temporarily, but now that Nathan's gone, _so_ is the soul you both shared. Now, I am leaving."

"More presents?"

Peter nodded. "And I need some shoes."

Wait—why the _hell_ was Peter telling Sylar that, anyway?

It was _none of his business_ that Peter needed some shoes...

"Well in that case, I need some shoes, too," Sylar replied with a resounding nod.

Peter frowned. "I suggest you go back to whatever hole from Hell you crawled out of, Sylar. You're _not_ following me anymore."

"Just _try_ and stop me, Peter. Your nullification doesn't extend that far. Proved that when you were on the roof, while I healed after landing on that car. Try and avoid me, and I swear to _God_ I will terrorize this entire mall in _your_ name, and I do believe that Nathan's departure has weighed you down enough. Don't think you could take the weight of anymore deaths on your shoulders, you already have the weight of the world on them, after all."

"What the _fuck_ is it with you, Sylar?" Peter snapped, "WHY is it so important for you to mess up my life more than it already is? I _just_ want to finish my goddamned shopping, _not_ get stalked by some crazy, psychopathic serial killer, do you understand me? Just _let_ me buy my fucking shoes and my fucking Christmas presents in _peace_."

"You need some shoesies that badly, Peter?" Sylar cutely questioned with an innocent expression, "Hope you're nicer to whoever sells you the shoesies than you were to those other people at the registers. My God, all of those perverted sex-jokes you made to them, even about your own mother... though what you said about you and Angela wouldn't surprise me one bit. You're obviously incestuous, and _not_ just because you're Italian, like you said. Also, wouldn't surprise me if you were fucking Mohinder, Hiro, Ando, AND Matt. From what Nathan—_I_—can remember, you always _did_ have a bit of a problem 'keeping it in your pants'. Not as much as Nathan, but, yeah, a 'problem' nevertheless. Nathan even suspected that you were sleeping with our dear friend Mohinder. Wonder if Angie has the same problem as you two? Hey Peter, you think she'd put-out for me?"

"_Gross_," Peter mumbled as he stood, gathering his sandwich's paper bag and the remainder of his sub before he waltzed over to the trash can and tossed it all in, taking one final sip of his coke before he put that too into the garbage. Sylar had managed to take away his appetite _completely_ with that statement about Angela. Had given Peter a _bad_ mental image.

And when Peter turned around, Sylar was standing right there.

Peter could only sigh. Now that he really, _really_ put some thought into it, he really _had_ to hope that Sylar kept tagging-along... At least that way, with his current negation ability, Peter would know that Sylar wasn't off killing someone.

Peter sighed again. "Come on."

"What?"

"You heard me, come on. For the life of me I will never, _never_ understand you, and as much as I _still_ want you to fuck off, I _can't_ finish my shopping and get my freaking _shoes_ knowing that you're running around Manhattan Mall with abilities that could kill someone, in _my_ name. I can't have that on my conscious. I'm through blaming myself for Nathan's death—hell, I know that was _your_ fault now, not mine. There was nothing I could do. But this time, I can do something, so come on."

"M'kay," Sylar answered with a nod as Peter gathered his sacks out of the booth. Sylar followed Peter all the way to Foot Locker through the enormous crowd of Christmas shoppers, neither one of them uttering a word to one another. Though, Sylar had tried to strike up a convo several times, Peter had cut him off every time with a resounding 'Don't'.

Peter and Sylar entered Foot Locker, and Peter instantly began looking at the various shoes in the men's section.

Peter picked up a pair of Nikes, sat down on a bench, and began to try them on, and only then did Sylar finally break the silence.

"Funny, Peter. I always pictured you as more of an 'A.D.I.D.A.S.' guy. Do you know what that really stands for?"

"Dunno, don't care."

"All day I dream about sex."

"Pervert..." Peter muttered to himself, "Did you make that up yourself or did you hear that from someone at a swingers club while you were taking it up the ass from two guys at once?"

"I heard it in a song on the radio, actually."

"Whatever, Sylar," Peter sighed still more.

And then, Sylar began to try on some new A.D.I.D.A.S.'s.

Peter would never look at A.D.I.D.A.S.'s the same way again now, thanks to Sylar.

"I think I'm gonna get these, Peter."

"Good for you," Peter remarked nonchalantly, "Damn, too _small_..."

Sylar stood, wearing the new shoes as he walked over and got Peter the same shoes he was trying on in a size up.

"Here you go."

"Thanks," Peter answered, then regretting the fact that he had thanked the killer for _anything_.

He didn't deserve it.

"You're very welcome, Peter."

Peter tried on the second pair of Nikes, and they were a perfect fit. Deciding that he needed to get the hell out of the mall, get Emma and Hesam a piece a present, and go back to his apartment already, Peter decided to go on ahead and buy the goddamned shoes.

Peter and Sylar both changed back into their own shoes, and headed for the register. Then, when Sylar got in front of Peter and placed his shoes on the counter, Peter shoved Sylar out of the way.

"You're _not_ cutting in front of me. Get _behind_ me, where you _belong_."

Sylar chuckled. Yeah, Peter didn't realize how pervy that had sounded.

"With pleasure."

Peter walked up to the register, and sat the box on the counter.

"Merry Christmas, sir," a teenage boy greeted, "You two, erm, together...?"

Peter frowned. The guy thought he was _gay!_ And with _Sylar!_

Sylar suddenly wrapped his long arms around Peter's smaller frame from behind, and lightly kissed the side of his neck.

"In more ways than one," Sylar laughed out loud.

"Get your **FUCKING** hands **OFF** of me!" Peter yelled, promptly taking Sylar's hands off of him.

Sylar pouted cutely. "Anything you say, sweetheart. Sorry about that. I know how much you hate exposing your sexual orientation to the general public."

"Sick fuck..."

"I'll get on my knees if it pleases you, dear."

The teenage boy blinked. He could only guess the shorter guy was the designated 'pitcher' between these two, going by his outburst, along with what the taller guy had just stated when he had said 'get on my knees'. The taller guy actually seemed relatively _sweet_, unlike his partner... kinda cute, too. And he was buying A.D.I.D.A.S.'s. A.D.I.D.A.S. peeps were supposedly _very_ sexual peeps.

And so, Peter and Sylar both paid for the shoes (And, fuck, Peter saw Sylar pay with that goddamned motherfucking credit card of his, that had some other guy's name on it whom Sylar had probably murdered earlier in the day...).

"Slim Shady," Sylar happily said.

Peter arched an eyebrow. "...Eminem? The fuck, Sylar?"

Sylar laughed out loud again, shaking his head. "No, Peter, the _spa_. I'm going to Slim Shady."

"Goddamnit..." Peter muttered, knowing he'd have to go to the fucking spa, too, and, damn, Peter really, _really_ wanted to just finish his shopping and go home already, _not_ go to a damned _health spa_ with Sylar of all people. _Things_, actually. Sylar was NOT a human being in Peter's eyes.

Once again in silence, Peter followed Sylar to Slim Shady, where the two, shoes and all, entered.

"Welcome to Slim Shady, boys, what can we do for you today?"

Sylar smiled brightly. "Yeah, we'd like a massage and the full back walking treatment, thanks. I'm paying, by the way."

"Sure thing," a very attractive blonde replied, leading Sylar and Peter into the back of the spa.

"I don't _want_ a fucking _massage_ or a fucking _back walk,_ Sylar," Peter grumbled, eyeing the taller man sharply through his bangs, which he promptly pushed out his brown eyes and back behind his ears, "And no, you're not paying. Whomever you _killed_ to get his credit cards is. _Bastard_."

And, yeah... Sylar had kinda killed a guy to get his wallet.

Not like Sylar regretted it, though.

"Here you two boys go," the blonde woman said, gesturing to a small room, "You go right along in there and change. There's clean towels and robes in there, hope they're to your liking. Well, have fun!"

"We will. C'mon, Peter," Sylar said, pulling Peter into the room by his left-arm.

Peter jerked his arm away from Sylar.

God fucking damnit.

_Another_ person had thought he was _gay_. _With_ **Sylar**. A-_gain_.

Otherwise, she would have given him and Sylar separate rooms.

The _nerve_.

Peter was so lost in thought that he didn't even snap back into reality until Sylar started to undress in front of him.

"...The hell are you doing, Sylar?"

Sylar took off his plaid shirt, folded it, set it down on raised bench against the wall. Then, he pulled down his pants, as Peter _instantly_ got an eye-full.

Of Sylar's ass.

And, Peter couldn't _deny_ the fact that it was such a _great_ ass.

Peter's sacks and shoes fell to the floor.

Peter felt a sudden twitch in pants, and frowned.

Fuck.

Sylar looked back over his shoulder.

"Lean, isn't it, Peter?"

Peter swallowed. "S-Shut-up, Sylar."

Sylar grabbed a robe from the rack, and put it on, making sure he didn't let Peter get a good look at him from the front.

"Well? Your turn, pretty little Peter Petrelli..." Sylar sniggered, that stupid grin once again gracing his facial features, _much_ to Peter's ultimate dismay.

He hated that damned grin.

He saw it on Sylar's face every time he kicked Sylar's ass, strangely enough.

Could only imagine Sylar got-off on being beat-up.

Pervert.

Peter didn't bother turning around, and took his coat off, pulled the black, long-sleeved shirt over head, and then, unzipped his pants, pulling them down as he kicked off either of his shoes.

Sylar whistled at the equipment Petrelli was packing. "I see you're _very_ well endowed, Petey... Nate was, too."

"Get your eyes _off_ my dick, Sylar," Peter hissed.

"M'kay."

"Will you fucking STOP saying 'M'kay' already?" Peter barked as he walked over and slipped into a white cotton robe.

"M'kay."

Peter sighed, rubbing his forehead.

This was getting him _nowhere_.

"Let's—Let's just go already. Get this the hell over with..." Peter sighed hopelessly.

"M'kay."

Peter's teeth gritted.

The two exited the room, and went back into the spa, where they each laid stomach-down on narrow, padded tables.

Two women came over to Peter and Sylar, separating between the two men before they pulled the robes down their shoulders, and began massage away.

Sylar practically moaned, as Peter groaned.

"God, that feels _so_ good," Sylar said, his voice full of pleasure. "I have _so_ much tension in my backside right now. Oh, yeah..."

So there was Sylar's 'pleasure-voice'.

Yeah, Peter had totally heard it before, ev-er-y time he beat Sylar up, he _heard_ it.

"Hey Peter, you like cats?"

What...?

"Who are you, Robert Archer?"

"I love 'A Scanner Darkly', Peter. Seems you and I have a lot in common after all..."

Peter smirked. "The only thing you and I have in common is the fact they want each other dead."

"Yeah, that too, but I still like cats. You ever had a cat, Peter?"

"No, actually..." Peter muttered, "My mom didn't want animals in the house, though Nathan had a dog once. It died."

"Sorry bout' that, Petey. Hey, after this you wanna check out the pet store and see the kittens? I'm going, fo' sure."

"Oh, God..." Peter groaned.

God_damnit_...

"I was at Nathan's funeral, you know..." Sylar suddenly informed, and, God, Peter already didn't want to hear anymore. "I stood off in the distance, watched you, Claire, Angela... You looked so sad, Peter, so very sad, and yet, you didn't even shed so much as a single solitary tear... Why is that, Peter?"

"Because I'm through mourning my brother's death," Peter lied. He _definitely_ wasn't through mourning his brother's death. "Like I said, Nathan's _gone_ and I've accepted that factor. I... I'll always love him, always miss him, but I am _through_. _Your_ fault, not mine."

Sylar sighed. "Go on and guilt-trip me, Peter. You're making me feel bad. Like I said, I'm not sorry I killed Nathan, but, I am sorry at what his death has turned you into. You weren't always this... fucked in the head."

The woman who had been massaging Sylar's back, shoulders, and neck walked away, very, very disturbed by the topic at hand. Were they joking...? Yes, they _had_ to be it...

It's not as if she had been pleasuring a filthy _murderer_, right...?

"I am _not_ fucked in the head, Sylar. That's _you_."

Sylar shrugged, before a tiny, little Vietnamese girl stepped up on a footstool, onto the padded table before she began walking on Sylar's back, cracking it and releasing _delicious_ pressure.

"Oh—Oh _yeah_. Fuck, right _there_. _Don't_ stop," Sylar practically moaned. "_Harder_, _that's_ the spot, right _there_. **Yeah**..."

Peter rolled a set of large, brown eyes.

That.. hadn't.. sounded.. right.

A tiny little Japanese girl then got stepped up onto Peter's table, and began walking on _his_ back.

Peter didn't get the pleasure out of the experience that Sylar was getting, but still, it felt good.

Still, Peter wanted to go home.

Now.

Watch Sylar follow him there, too.

If they didn't kill each other first.

Peter listened to Sylar moan for the next ten minutes, rolling his eyes again as Sylar continued to pant and gravel and moan like he was taking it up the ass.

Finally, it was all over.

Peter and Sylar stood, returned to the room their clothes were in, changed, and left.

Once outside of the store, Sylar looked at Peter, and said, "Time for the kittens, Peter."

Peter groaned still more. "Whatever."

And so, the two men made their ways all the way to the other side of the mall, right outside of 'Nordstrom', where a pet shop was located.

Peter and Sylar entered.

"Want me to carry some of those bags, pretty little Peter Petrelli?"

"No! And-And STOP calling me 'pretty little' Peter Petrelli!"

Sylar huffed cutely, and smiled. "Whatever you say."

Sylar walked over to the glass, where there were a group of kittens, all colours, staring back at Sylar, jumping up at him from the other side of the glass.

"Awww..." Sylar said, completely taken aback.

A middle-aged woman came over to Sylar, and chuckled. "Want to hold one, sir?"

"Yes, I sure do," Sylar happily responded.

The woman went back behind the glass, and got out a small, gray kitten. Then she returned, and handed it to Sylar.

Sylar took the baby kitten in his hands, and held it, kissing its forehead.

Peter was amazed. _Amazed_ that SYLAR could be this... innocent... It was enough to make Peter's jaw drop there and then.

Sylar looked... so innocuously _adorable_...

"Hey there buddy," Sylar giggled endearingly, "How you doing? How's the world treating you? Better than me, I hope."

"He's a newborn, still breast-feeding," the employee stated, "You want him? He seems to like you."

Sylar sighed remorsefully. "I-I'd like a kitten or a puppy, but, I'd just have nowhere to put um'. I... kinda move around a lot..."

"I see..." the woman said, mourning. She obviously wanted to find all of these little guys a good home before Christmas, a family, but, Sylar didn't have a family, did he? Much as he had always seemed to want one, more than anything else in the world. Just... a place to finally _belong_.

But alas, he was still the odd man out.

Sylar kissed the kitten a final time, before he handed it back to the middle-aged brunette, huffing once again.

Afterwards, Sylar went over to look at the puppies.

Peter stepped up alongside him. "Can we go now?"

"But Peter, aren't they _so_ cute? _Look_ at that little guy. He likes you, Peter."

Peter looked behind the glass, where a small, cocker spaniel had its front paws on the glass, right in front of Peter's face.

"Yeah, he's cute."

"Hey there baby," Sylar said, tapping the glass, "You like Peter? So do I, sometimes, when he's not being a dick like Nathan was."

"Hey, _fuck_ you," Peter sputtered.

Sylar could only grin. That damned grin. The one Peter _hated_.

"M'kay. Your turn, Peter. Now where to? Hope it's quick, I wanna get a Red Bull and some cake."

"To the restrooms."

"M'kay. Number one or number two? Number three, maybe?" Sylar sniggered.

"Sick fuck..." Peter repeated for the zillionth time. "And I told you to fucking STOP saying 'M'kay', got it?"

Sylar only nodded, shrugging slightly.

The hero and villain walked through the mall, until Peter turned right and went down a small hall, into the men's room.

And of course, Sylar followed.

"I gotta go too," Sylar stated.

"Good for you," Peter responded as he stepped up before a urinal, and unzipped his pants, doing his business.

And, yeah, Sylar was kinda staring.

A-gain.

"Get your eyes _off_ my dick, Sylar," Peter said, just as he had said back at the spa.

"M'kay," Sylar said, looking at the wall instead.

"Goddamnit. Well?"

"Well what?"

"I thought you said you had to go?"

Sylar smirked. "I'm _not_ going in front of you."

Peter groaned. "Nothing I haven't seen before, Sylar."

"Don't you wish."

"I just saw your ass back at the spa."

"Didn't see my dick, though, and you're not gonna."

"Like I give a fuck."

"There's that word again, Peter."

Peter finished, tucked himself away, and zipped up his jeans, then walking over to the sinks where he put some soap on his hands, and then, washed them with warm water.

"I think I'll just wait until you're out of it to go myself," Sylar rest-assured.

Peter arched an eyebrow. "...What do you mean by that, Sylar?"

And then, light lightening, Sylar grasped a fistful of Peter's shorter hair and slammed his face forwards into the mirror, breaking the mirror as crack after crack rooted in its reflective depths.

With a bloody forehead, Peter fell to the floor, unconscious.

Sylar grinned, and then, dragged Peter into the last stall, sitting him up in the corner against the wall.

Oh, shoot, his presents and his shoesies.

Couldn't forget those.

Might get stolen.

Would get stolen.

Sylar got Peter's sacks, and then, placed them into the stall as well.

He shut the handicapped stall's door, and turned.

"I'll be waiting for you at the Christmas tree, pretty little Peter Petrelli. Then, you die. Nighty night."

And with that said, Sylar walked over to urinal, did his business as Peter had, and left.

Time for a Red Bull and some cake.

***

A loud groan.

Peter Petrell's loud groan.

"Fuck," Peter said to himself, rubbing his forehead, which was crusted over with dried blood.

What the _hell_ was going on?

_Sylar_.

That's right.

_Sylar_ has smashed his face into the restroom mirror.

Peter was still in the restroom.

Peter shakily stood, falling against the wall as he caught himself by pressing the palms of his hands against the hard tile.

He must've had a concussion.

Fuck.

Sylar was going to _pay_ for this!

"Fuck," Peter repeated, "That little _son of a bitch_. What time is it, anyways?"

Peter turned his left-wrist up, and looked at the time, though it was rather hard to make-out. The lights had been dimmed.

_11:47 P.M._

Oh, God, the fucking mall was _closed_ and Peter was STILL in there, probably LOCKED inside!

And, Peter had a _damn_ good feeling that Sylar was still in the mall, too.

Well, looks like Peter was going to have to come back for his Christmas presents and his shoes... He couldn't leave them, especially those earrings for Angela that had set him back several hundred dollars.

Peter did NOT have the cash to throw away...

Wasn't rich, after all, _just_ a paramedic now.

_Barely_ even special, _barely_ even 'one of us' anymore, in Peter's opinion...

Fuck his father.

Weren't it for him, Sylar would be _no match_ against _Peter Petrelli_.

Peter went over to the sink, and carefully, washed the dried blood from his forehead, noticing that the mirror was also all bloodied, and broken up too.

Peter grunted, drying off his hands with one of those cheap-ass, brown paper towels before he threw it away and headed out of the restroom.

Peter looked around.

It was dark.

Oh so dark.

Sylar.

Had to find him.

Now.

Peter headed through the mall, walking to one end and back.

No Sylar.

He had searched the entire first story, and unless Sylar was secretly hiding in one of the gated stores, which Peter highly doubted, he was still there.

Peter finally headed up the frozen escalator, taking step after step, until he had reached the top.

Peter decided he would try the food court this time around.

So he walked, swiftly, past all of the stores that were gated shut at this hour of the night.

When Peter had finally reached the massive food court, he noticed that the colossal Christmas tree's lights were still on.

Huh...?

That wasn't right...

And music was still playing.

Also not right.

Power should have been off by now.

"Hey you! What are you doing in here?"

Peter blinked, as a man stepped out from behind the Christmas tree, which was located on a large podium centered in the middle of the water fountain. The man was wearing a security uniform.

And holding a fucking Red Bull.

Peter smirked.

Nice try.

But not good enough.

"I didn't fall for that little trick last time, **Sylar**, what makes you think I'm falling for it _this_ time?"

The security guard smirked back, promptly shapeshifting back into none other than Sylar.

"Smart move, Petrelli. Now, get over here so it can make what I'm about to do to you all the more easy..."

Sylar grinned like an idiot, walking over to one of the many tables where there was a bag. Peter stared as Sylar removed a _nail gun_ from its confines.

Sylar took another sip of his Red Bull, sat it down, and turned.

Peter frowned. "Fat fucking chance, Sylar."

"Gonna 'nail' you so fucking hard, pretty little Peter Petrelli," Sylar mused, waving the nail gun around in his hand, before he walked over, and sat it down on the floor next to a large, flat board that was adjacent to the likewise large water fountain.

Sylar's hands then filled with fluent sparks of blue, electrical lightening, before he sent a powerful surge of energy in Peter's general direction. Peter dove to the side, barely missing the bolts.

Fuck.

Had to get closer to Sylar, didn't he?

Had to nullify Sylar before he got zapped, flung into the ceiling even before he landed to his certain death.

Peter stood, and charged forth at the grinning Sylar, fist balled and pulled back.

Peter screamed, slamming his fist right into Sylar's grinning face to wipe the fucking smirk from his lips.

Sylar's head snapped back, before he raised his own fist, retracting it before he slammed it into Peter's gut. Peter hunched over in pain temporarily, before his hands shot forwards, gripping onto Sylar's shoulders as he kneed him in the stomach, _hard_, just as he had done to Sylar back at the under-construction hospital. Sylar groaned, before Peter punched him again, and again, beating the hell out of him before Sylar fell back down to the floor, on top of the flat board.

Peter eyed the nail gun, grabbed it, and got down on the floor...

Between Sylar's legs this time around.

Wasn't gonna straddle Sylar again.

Sylar had rather enjoyed that too much.

"Gee, this sure is _familiar_, Sylar," Peter hissed.

Sylar gazed up at Peter, and only grinned again, crimson blood running down his chin and forehead.

Grinned.

That goddamned, motherfucking _grin_.

"...Only _this_ time, it's going to go a bit _differently_, Peter."

Sylar grabbed onto Peter's shoulders, pulled one of his legs back, and sent the soul of his shoe surging forth into Peter's stomach.

"Fuck!" Peter shouted, nearly falling backwards or to the side, before Sylar wrapped his long legs around Peter's waist, flipping them over.

Sylar took the nail gun from Peter's right-hand, and backhanded Peter across the face with its hard, plastic outlining.

Twice, three, _four_ consecutive times in a row.

Peter had _almost_ stopped struggling, when Sylar grabbed Peter's left-wrist, stretched his arm out to the side, pushed his hand down to the board, and, just like that, put a nail through it.

"_Ahhhh!_" Peter screamed.

Sylar chuckled, darkly. "That's it, pretty little Peter Petrelli. Scream for me. Scream. Scream _loud_, so that it echoes throughout the _entire_ mall."

Sylar took the nail gun, and with it, put a nail straight through the lower part of Peter's left-leg, just as Peter had done to him at the hospital.

Peter screamed still more.

But he wasn't going to beg for Sylar like Sylar had begged for him.

Fuck no.

Peter was too _strong_ for that.

Peter could tell Sylar was going in for his other hand, when Peter quickly balled his fist, and backhanded Sylar across the face with it, knocking him off to the side.

Peter knew he had to seize the opportunity.

Now or never.

Fuck, this was gonna HURT...

Peter, with all his might, then ripped his left-hand up from the board, the head of the nail going _right through his hand_ as Peter cried out in earth-shattering agony.

Peter crawled over to Sylar, gripped his good hand into Sylar's dark fringe of hair from behind, pulled his head back, and then, smashed his face against the edge of the water fountain, bloodying his lips and forehead.

Again and again and _again_.

Peter stood, hauling Sylar to his feet before he quite literally threw Sylar into the fountain, diving in right after him.

Water splashed in every which direction as Sylar landed back-down in the crystal clear water, before Peter got on top of him, grabbed his neck, and pushed his head back, holding him underwater as he choked him.

This was it, wasn't it?

Finally.

_Finally_ Sylar's long overdue curtain call had come.

_Finally_ Sylar was going to get what was coming to him.

_Finally_ Sylar was going to _die_.

For good.

Sylar chocked wildly underneath the water, and this went on for awhile until Peter was sure Sylar wouldn't be able to take anymore, until, out of nowhere, Sylar found it in him to once again flip them back over.

He let out an angry growl and began swinging punches, left and right.

Peter bent his knee, and kicked Sylar in the chest, sending him back into the fountain. Peter got up, and for long, he and Sylar were rolling around in the water as it splashed all around them, with every movement either of them obtained to make.

Finally, Sylar was once again on his back, beneath Peter with Peter between his legs again, Peter's hands on Sylar's chest as he held him down.

Momentarily, the fighting stopped as both Sylar, and Peter, fought to regain control of their breathing. The overexertion was just too much for the both them, or so it seemed.

Peter gazed at Sylar with brown eyes, and Sylar gazed back at Peter with brown eyes.

Then, Sylar suddenly took Peter's left-hand into his right, brought it to his mouth, and lightly kissed the palm above the bleeding hole in the skin.

"Got a penny, Peter? Make a wish for me, baby..."

Peter gasped.

Fuck.

He gasped.

And Sylar had called him 'baby'. Meant he _wanted_ Peter, didn't it...?

Sylar kissed Peter's hand again several more times, peppering it with gentle kisses, before nuzzling his face against it.

Peter then sat back on his knees, jerking Sylar into a sitting position by the front of his shirt, and, having no idea what the _hell_ he was doing, gripped the back of Sylar's head by his hair and crushed their lips together.

Sylar kissed Peter back, parting his rosy lips before Peter's tongue plunged into the warm cavern of his mouth, Sylar pushing his tongue back into Peter's, forcefully. The hero and villain continued to kiss as water from the fountain rained down upon them both, presenting a shining, but rather obscene display of intimacy.

Peter finally broke from the kiss, saying 'fuck' one more time before he once again hauled Sylar to his feet, dragging the taller man over to the center of the fountain where the illuminated Christmas tree was located. Peter threw Sylar's form down next to it, and approached him, the two _finally_ out of that damned water fountain.

Peter got on top of Sylar and kissed him again, grinding his body down into Sylar's as Sylar kissed him back, welcoming him, welcoming everything Peter had to _give_ him and more.

Peter pulled back, and with so much haste that Peter fumbled more than once, began to unzip Sylar's soaking wet jeans.

"What are you doing, Peter?" Sylar questioned knowingly, even sort of nonchalantly.

Well.

Sylar was suddenly acting as if he wasn't very interested in this anymore.

Yeah, THAT was a lie.

"Gonna get these _fucking_ things off you, what's it look like?" Peter spoke with lust clear in his low voice, getting the zipper all the way down before he began pulling Sylar's pants off of him. The fact that they were so wet made it quite the difficult task to achieve, the cloth sticking to Sylar's skin, but Peter managed nonetheless to emerge victorious, just like he always did in the end. Peter got the black jeans all of the way down to Sylar's feet, before he pulled off Sylar's shoes and slipped the pants off fully, reveling Sylar's entire lower half to Peter's lustful eyes.

"Now I _finally_ get to see you," Peter stated with fervor.

Peter spread Sylar's legs, got in between them, and then, unzipped his own pants. Fuck, he was so worked-up. All that rolling around in the water with Sylar had gotten him hard, and fast. Peter removed himself from his jeans, and pulled Sylar forwards by his slick hips.

Peter looked down at Sylar, and, fuck, he looked so unbelievably hot. Soaking wet, brown eyes staring up at him full of lust, his dark, longer hair in his face, completely mussed and sticking to his bloodied face and forehead, his perfect body on display and all splayed out for Peter, legs and mouth open.

And, God, 'Last Christmas' by Taylor Swift was playing.

'_Once bitten and twice shy, I __**keep my distance**__ but you __**still**__ catch my eye. Tell me, __**baby**__, do you recognize me? __**Merry Christmas**__, I wrapped it up and sent it, with a note saying, "I love you", I __**meant**__ it. Now I know __**what a fool I've been**__, but if you __**kissed me now**__ I know you'd fool me __**again**__...'_

Peter blinked.

Yeah, totally...

Taylor said it all.

"You know, pretty boys like you were made for one thing, Sylar. Fucking."

Sylar was going to say 'look who's talking, Peter', argue and say that Peter was the _real_ 'pretty boy' between them, but, he didn't get the chance.

With his closing line said, Peter had gripped Sylar's shoulders, and then, slammed home in one, brutal thrust.

Sylar couldn't hold it back, and screamed.

This _hurt_.

Bad.

Even more than it had hurt when Peter had nailed him to the floor.

Well... Sylar supposed Peter was most definitely 'nailing him', a-gain, only in a _different_ way this time around.

Peter didn't seem to care that Sylar was in great pain, and began to thrust, rutting hard like an animal in heat as he mounted Sylar.

"Fuck," Peter hissed in pleasure, "Fuck _yeah_. Was gonna kill you, but you feel so good I can't help fucking you senseless."

"P-Peter..." Sylar gasped, his back arching up off the floor in one, fluent motion, "Peter! Oh-Oh God, I-I..."

"That's it, Sylar," Peter panted as he sped up his movements, "Say my name. _Scream_ it for me. I _want_ to hear you say it, again and again and _again_."

"_Fuck_ you!" Sylar groaned, before Peter took Sylar's legs, and wrapped them around his lean waist. Peter wasn't one fucking bit surprised when Sylar ultimately submitted and tightened his legs around his hips, pulling him in.

Peter continued to thrust, hard, fast, flipping his wet brown hair out of his face before he leaned over Sylar and attacked the man's lips once again.

But Sylar didn't kiss him back this time.

"Kiss me," Peter said, whispering the silent demand against Sylar's lips.

"N-No... Don't want to."

"_**Kiss**__ me_," Peter growled, accentuating his point with yet another sharp thrust, striking home base.

"Fuck!" Sylar yelled, wrapping his arms around Peter's neck before he succumbed fully, kissing Peter back hard and heavily, his loud moans echoing throughout the entire mall just as his earlier screams of pain had done prior.

"Ooh God, Sylar, you're so fucking _tight_," Peter informed, his voice overflowing with numerous amounts of pleasure, "Shouldn't be surprised. Every time is like the first time for you. No healing for you this time, pretty boy. Not while I'm around... No, no healing for you."

"Fuck, Peter, you—you... You're... the 'pretty boy'..."

"Well you're the one taking it up the ass."

"_Bitch_," Sylar hissed, socking Peter in the face yet again, splitting Peter's already split lower lip.

Peter didn't seem to give damn, though, and only continued right along with what he was doing.

"Like you've... never... 'taken it up the ass'... Peter..." Sylar ground-out between tightly clenched teeth, "Nathan... knew _that_ much..."

"_Don't_," Peter spat-out vehemently, "Don't you even fucking _dare_, Sylar. Or I'll stop, I swear to God I'll just _stop_ and leave you here like this. Completely debauched, like the whore that you _are_."

Sylar wanted to taunt Peter all the more, punish him verbally, in the way he was being punished physically, or so Peter seemed to think, but Sylar had already lost the will to snark before the argument had even really _begun_...

And he didn't want Peter to stop, either, and knew he would if he went on anymore about his prior relationship with his brother Nathan.

Fuck, Sylar wanted to get himself off, and _bad_. He moved the hand he had just backhanded Peter across his pretty face with down to his lower half, but before he could touch himself, Peter had already smacked Sylar's hand away, violently.

"No, Sylar, let me take care of that little, well, 'big' problem _for_ you..."

And when Peter grasped onto him and began moving his hand back and forth, Sylar couldn't help it, and howled in pleasure.

"Oh my God..." Sylar spoke with ardent desire clear in his voice, "Fuck, fuck _yes_. _Fuck me_, Peter Petrelli. Give it... give it _all_ to me."

"Oh I will, oh I _am_," Peter responded in a shallow voice, driving home once again as Sylar gasped in pleasure. Damn, Peter's leg was _killing_ him from where Sylar had put a long nail straight through it. Would have to pull it out just as soon as he was finished. Wished he had that nail gun right fucking now so he could put a few nails through Sylar.

"You're _**loving**__ this_, aren't you, Sylar?" Peter asked with bitterness, untangling one of Sylar's legs from around his waist before he bent it, and pushed it down against Sylar's chest, hard, by the back of his knee, changing their angle, enabling Peter to go even _deeper_ inside of Sylar's perfect body.

"Fuck, _yes!_" Sylar shouted, his voice once again reverberating through the entire building. "_Peter_, **yes**, fuck!"

Peter chuckled. "Fuck yeah you are. You fucking _love_ it. You're about to come, aren't you, Sylar? I can totally tell."

Peter continued to stroke Sylar off for a few more moments, pounding into him in unison, until he finally whispered in a silent demand...

"_Come for me_, Sylar. Come _hard_. Come all over yourself for me. Let me see your pretty little face contort in pleasure as you do so..."

"Peter... _Peter_... Oh _God_, _**PETER...!**_" Sylar yelled-out as he came.

Peter grinned, deciding it was about time that he finish up already too, as much as he hated for the moment to end. He released his hold on Sylar's fading erection, and grabbed his hips with both hands, lifting him halfway off of the floor as he slammed into Sylar two, four, seven more times before he came, came hard inside of the other man.

Sylar gasped as he was filled. Fuck, so long, so long since he had felt this.

So long for Peter, too. He hadn't gotten laid since Caitlin, and God, he had been craving physical content with another person for long, so very long.

When it was all over with, Peter sat back on his knees, and slipped out of Sylar.

Sylar just lay there for awhile, still all splayed-out for Peter, until Peter tucked himself away and zipped his wet pants back up.

Then, Sylar stood, and practically _limped_ over to where Peter had tossed his jeans. Yeah, that was right... no healing for pretty little Sylar...

After Sylar had redressed, he sat down next to Peter, under the colossal, decorated Christmas tree, centered within the water fountain.

"I enjoyed you, pretty little Peter Petrelli. But, well... yeah... that was pretty fucked," Sylar muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"_You_ were pretty fucked," Peter said, his mouth cracking into a lopsided grin.

"So, we gonna go back to trying to kill each other now or what, Peter?" Sylar questioned with curiosity. He... wasn't really up to it anymore...

Peter shook his head. "No. Much rather do... other things to you now..."

Peter leaned forwards, his lips kissing and licking at Sylar's neck as he gripped Sylar's shoulder with one hand and cupped his cheek with the other, retracing his lips up to Sylar's jaw-line, his face, and then his lips, waiting for full-on access as Sylar hesitantly opened his mouth, allowing Peter's tongue inside of it all over again.

"Shouldn't..." _Kiss_.. "Have dressed." _Kiss_. "Quite." _Kiss_. "So quickly." _Kiss_. "Sylar." _Kiss_. "I'm _only_ gonna work you up into a sweat all over again..."

Sylar moaned against Peter's mouth.

He couldn't believe that Peter could _possibly_ ready to go again already, but it seemed that was the case...

"No, Peter. I _have_ to be able to _walk_ out of here, and with your current ability, that doesn't make that too fucking _easy_ for me to do."

Peter sighed, going in for another heated kiss, before he once again began kissing and licking at Sylar's neck, tilting his head back as he continued his sexual ministrations.

"Then let's go back to apartment," Peter suggested, kissing Sylar's wet, sweat-slick skin again, "We can fuck there."

Sylar shivered. "Yeah, Peter, sure, whatever... But this time, I am fucking _you_."

"Maybe. I'll think about it," Peter responded with another long lick, "You'll be lucky if I let you. I don't do that for just anyone..."

"Happy birthday, Peter Petrelli," Sylar said as his head tilted back in pleasure, Peter continuing to kiss, lick, and suck on his neck.

"Merry Christmas, Sy—Gabriel Gray, and a happy New Year," Peter whispered, licking a long trail up Sylar's neck. Fuck, Peter was _insatiable_.

But, yeah... Sylar kinda was, too...

"_Don't_ call me that," Sylar moaned as his arms wrapped around Peter's neck.

"But it's only _your __name_," Peter murmured against Sylar's skin, kissing it some more, "You've only forgotten your true self. Let me help you remember, Gabriel. Let me help you remember. ...In the future, you snapped at me when I called you Sylar, told me your name was _Gabriel_. I screamed your true name right before you detonated, for the first time... The only time until now that I _ever_ said your name to you, to anyone..."

"Yeah, well, future hasn't happened yet, Peter..." Sylar said, before Peter kissed him on the lips once again.

"Future was _fucked_," Peter replied between avid kisses and long caresses, "Gonna make it better this time, even _without_ my powers. Gonna, gotta have you, Gabriel. You're _**all mine**__ now_. Gonna make you mine, forever... Oh, God, I wanna fuck you again so fucking bad."

"Later," Sylar whispered in response as Peter's lips enclosed on his once again. Seemed Peter couldn't get enough of those kisses. Then, when Peter cupped his groin, Sylar grunted and moved Peter's hand away from it, causing Peter to pout. "Right now, we need to get the _hell_ outta here. And, I'll... I'll help you get your abilities, back Peter... Your problem is you're not an empath anymore. Your life and your head are both so _fucked_ that you've lost touch with your empathy, never lost your root ability, only lost the will to use it. Will fix it for you. Help you get it back. Give you all of my powers. Help you get more."

Peter smiled, gripping Sylar's face into his hands, tilting his head before he began licking at Sylar's neck once again, his tongue dancing lightly over the skin.

"I'd like that. So sorry I can't get you a kitten or a puppy... God, even if you are a killer, you are still so _innocent_... I _**love**_ it. I'll _make_ you love me, Gabriel..."

"Already do, and o-okay... Well then, stop assaulting me with your tongue _long_ enough for us to get _outta_ here."

Peter chuckled. "Yeah, sure thing, 'Gabriel'."

Sylar frowned. "Thought I told you _not_ to call me that."

"Just _did_, just _will_."

"Oh pretty little Peter Petrelli, what made you so beautiful?"

"What made _you_ so sexy, pretty little Gabriel Gray?" Peter remarked with a dark smile, nuzzling his face in the crook of Sylar's neck before presenting him with several more of those feather-light kisses, "Your long hair in your face like it still is now, your mouth wide open, your body soaking wet with water and sweat, your legs wide open on either side of me, you all splayed out, just for me... Fuck, gotta have you. I wanna push you down to the floor and fuck you all over again."

Sylar frowned, a-gain. "Well _contain_ yourself, Peter. As I said, I gotta be able to WALK out of here. Otherwise, I won't even GET out of here and back to your apartment."

Peter giggled randomly. "Oh, fuck, my mother's gonna be so fucking _mad_ at me. She can dream the future, you know. Probably dreaming about us fucking right fucking now."

"That's so hot," Sylar remarked, before Peter went in for another kiss. "Gonna kill beautiful little Angela so I can get that power."

"No, you're _not_," Peter said, shaking his head. "She's my _mother_, Gabriel. Gotta respect that. All I have _left_ in this Hellish world. If you want precognitive dreams, postcognitive dreams, and dream manipulation, you'll just _have_ to empathetically mimic it from her. _Know_ you have it in you, Gabriel, _you're_ the empath I'm not anymore. Fuck, you have more feeling than _me_ now!"

"That is because you are a cold, hard bitch," Sylar pointed-out, causing Peter to mimic his previous frown in the way that Peter mimicked abilities, "You're right, I _am_ the empath between us now. The one with the _heart_. The untainted soul. The purity."

"...Think I just robbed you of your 'purity', Gabriel."

"...Well, yeah, but still..." Sylar muttered, his face flushing red, "I AM the _empath_ now. I'll teach you, though, Peter. Teach you like I said. Teach you to _use_ your empathy again. _How_ to use it. After we go back to your apartment for awhile, let's go to your mother's, and I'll show you how to absorb her ability."

"Kay," Peter remarked, licking Sylar's parted lips before he stuck his tongue in between them for the hundredth time. Fuck, Angela was going to be _so_ goddamned pissed when she saw Peter at her doorstep with Sylar. "Let's go. But, how the hell are we gonna get outta here? The doors are chained shut."

Sylar grinned, somewhat evilly, and from the pocket of his still soaking wet pants, removed a set of keys.

"I got the answer right her, pretty little Peter Petrelli."

Peter smirked. "_Kill_ some security guard to get those, pretty little Gabriel Gray?"

Sylar nodded. "Yeah, killed several of them, actually, along with the entire surveillance team. Couldn't have them watching us fuck, after all."

"Like you _knew_ that was gonna happen, Gabriel. You're so going to _Hell_," Peter said, before licking some of the cerise blood off of Sylar's forehead, pushing his longer hair out of the way and back behind his ears.

"You'll be there right along with me, Peter."

Peter grinned, forebodingly. "Yeah I will. Now, let's go."

Sylar stood, before Peter did.

They walked back down the escalator, and towards the end of the mall, but, fuck, Peter couldn't keep his hands OFF of Sylar! Groping and kissing him all the way there, as Sylar struggled to walk properly. He had even had to sling his arm around Peter's shoulders at one point in time, only making Peter laugh out loud in the way Sylar had been laughing at him earlier in the night.

Well, it was Peter's turn to laugh out loud at Sylar, now.

And, yeah, then Peter went right along groping and kissing and licking him.

Well, that was most _certainly_ a change from how things had been earlier that evening.

When the two had reached the chained-shut doors, Peter slammed Sylar back into them, attacking his lips once again while picking up one of Sylar's legs, wrapping around his waist.

"Goddamnit, Peter, _control_ yourself," Sylar hissed against Peter's mouth, "You can _wait_, really, you _can wait_."

Peter only laughed again. "Yeah, whatever, Gabriel."

And so, Sylar handed Peter the keys, and Peter unchained the metal lock on the silver chain wrapping around through the set of door handles.

And so, they went back to Peter's apartment and had some more sex, actually taking _turns_ this time around, _much_ to Sylar's ultimate approval.

But the next day, they showed up at Angela Petrelli's, and she was _more_ than just a little surprised to see her youngest son standing there with Gabriel Gray...

Sylar had empathetically mimicked her ability then, though sadly, Peter wasn't able to, despite Sylar's encouragement.

That night, in Peter's apartment, in Peter's bed, Sylar had sweet dreams of him and Peter Petrelli together in the future.

But sadly... he... well, had also visited Nathan Petrelli in a dream, and Sylar had to get out of there pretty fast before Nathan could beat the living _hell_ out him once Sylar had told Nathan he had stolen his baby brother away.

The next morning, Sylar awoke with his head on Peter's taut chest.

Peter kissed Sylar's dark hair a few times once he noticed he was awake—seemed like he had been waiting—turned Sylar's head up so he could kiss him properly on the lips.

"Wanna fuck you," Peter whispered.

Oh, God.

"Peter, it's **dawn** for fuck's sake. You _need_ **help**. Need to go to **SA**," Sylar sighed, rolling his dark eyes, SA of course standing for _'Sexaholics Anonymous.'_

"Don't care," Peter remarked, kissing Sylar hungrily, "Gotta have you. Now. You're all mine now, Gabriel Gray..."

And so, yeah... they sorta got it on again.

Sylar hoped Peter would relinquish his negation ability soon, just... take another ability from him already, preferably cellular regeneration before either one of them had to get their asses insured.

At least that way...

He and Peter would be able to walk without people staring.

Oh well.

Sigh.

***

**A/N:** Major, major wtf-ness on my behalf here... Erm, yeah... sorry bout' that... And, God, Peter really WAS a sex-fiend in this! Sylar was right. Peter totally needs to go to SA, like Lei Wulong and Hwoarang do in one of my other fics. That would be kinda funny, thou... Peter going to Sexaholics Anonymous like Chazz Michael Michaels did in 'Blades of Glory'. x_x;; Urm, yepa... I don't even know wth this was, sadly... Definitely not my best ficcy, but, thankfully not my worst either... That award goes to that awful, awful TTT fic I wrote back in 2001... *shudders*

Didn't help that I was watching movies like 'The Prince of Egypt', 'Foxfire', and 'Children of the Corn' while writing this (And, the original CotC, NOT the remake of it where David Anders (the guy who plays Adam Monroe) stars, and dies at the end with freggin' corn stalks sticking out of his eye sockets. My God, that movie SUCKS!) And, OMG, in CotC, they listen to the SAME song at Sarah and Jobe's house that Danko's listening to when Sylar appears in the backseat of his car! :0... Don't know the title, but, oh well...

And on lj, I applied to another Heroes rating comm. And looks like I'm gonna get rated as Nathan Petrelli. People are saying I remind them of Sythan.

Oh, help me.

As usual, no flames, pretty plz... Like I always say, I delete anon flames and block logged-in reviewers who flame, so that they can do it again... Flames make me sad. :( But good reviews make me happy, so hopefully, this fic will get some, ridiculous as it sadly is. I only posted it because I thought a few people out there might enjoy its insanity, and hopefully, found it at least a lil' funny...

I know, I have a sick, sick, sick sense of humour...

This'll probably be my last Heroes fic until after Christmas, but hopefully, I can think of something to write for New Year's that's not just one of those party fics where everyone gets drunk at Angela's. ...Would be kinda fun, thou...

Time for me to sleep. Will probably post the next chapter of 'It Just Might Be Voodoo' when I wake-up...

Sooo, with that said, merry Christmas to you all! And a happy New Year's! :D Hope the holidays are wonderful for every single one of you guys!


End file.
